Thinking of You
by Black Lighted Clouds
Summary: Wolf's point of view as he finds out about Alex getting shot. Not really slash unless you're trying to dissect it as I know a lot of you will.


Wolf was deeply troubled. He was currently stationed in Baghdad, running through drills and going on missions with his current team, but his mind was a thousand miles away, in the British Isles, in fact. At least, that's where he hoped Cub was.

The boy occasionally popped into his head, ever since the assignment on the French Alps. When he found out exactly why a fourteen-year-old kid had been forced to undergo SAS training with him in Brecon Beacons. He was a spy for MI6.

The thought made Wolf sick. A child? Could MI6 sink no lower? He had witnessed firsthand what the boy had to go through when he used an _ironing board_ of all things to outrun a pair of crazed assassins with machine guns working for a mad scientist. He could still remember his heart leaping into his throat as he recognised the young blonde. A sudden lurch of guilt coursed through him, as it usually did when thinking of Cub, when he remembered how he had treated him in the training camp. It made him feel ashamed.

Usually. Now, however, he just felt angry. For the last couple of days, a rumour had been circulating amongst his troops, that an MI6 operative had been gunned down right in front of their headquarters as pay-back for interrupting Scorpia's plan to murder thousands of British school children, another thing the SAS had been involved with. It had never occurred to Wolf that he knew who the victim had been.

It came to him the other day, when a name surfaced. It had been a slow day when one of the troops came back from giving a message to the leader of another unit and had discovered the name of the spy. Alex Rider. Naturally, Wolf had dismissed it at first, but the thought that he knew who that was would simply not leave him alone. Then it hit him like a tonne of bricks. He had heard the name in the French Alps. Mrs Jones had addressed Cub as "Alex" when they were talking.

His heart beating fast, he had discreetly cornered the inquisitive soldier and demanded to know all of the details he had acquired. He almost had a panic attack as the man informed him that it had apparently been the "secret weapon", the teenage spy MI6 had been bragging about to other secret services around the globe, who had been shot.

Mouth dry, Wolf had asked if the boy was all right. It took all his will power not to collapse with relief as he discovered Cub was still alive. He had gotten lucky, according to local knowledge, the bullet had been ever so slightly too high, so he was not killed instantly and was rushed to hospital where he was making a remarkable, if painful, recovery.

Wolf unconsciously rubbed his arm where he had been shot once, wincing at the thought of Cub going through something like that, in the chest of all places. The whole mess weighed on his mind, but not as much as the thought that he was unable to do anything about it. He didn't know why, but it was if he had a need to protect the boy, who so often had his life put in danger by cold-hearted adults who didn't care if he lived or died or how badly he got hurt, as long as he did the jobs they forced on him. It made Wolf so angry.

He looked up as the delivery man walked into the barracks, carrying a sack full of mail for the troops from back home. As received his monthly letter from his parents, an idea struck Wolf. Looking up at the man, he muttered, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The man – George, Wolf remembered his name now – stared at him in surprise for a moment, and then nodded. As Wolf led him away, he stared at the soldiers back, wondering what prompted this change. He usually just accepted his letters with a brief "thank you" and that was it.

When they reached a more secluded area, Wolf turned to George and said, "I've heard that a friend of mine got hurt. I was wondering if there was any way you could find something for me to send him."

George raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Wolf shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I don't know. A get well card? Just something to – to cheer him up, you know?"

George smiled and nodded. "I'll see what I can find."

A week later, George handed a simple card with a sympathetic but not overly mushy message printed inside, which he quickly signed "To Cub . . . From Wolf" in the appropriate places, then handed back to the other man to be posted to England.

'_Hope you feel better soon, kid. That's the best I can offer you_.' Wolf thought, feeling a little sad, as George walked away.

Many miles away, Alex Rider sat in his hospital bed, grinning as he opened the card from his ex-unit leader, his spirits lifting at the uncharacteristic affection displayed by the man. For someone like Alex, a simple gesture of care is sometimes more than enough.

**A/N: I came up with this idea a while ago and I don't know why, but I just got the urge to finish it. Odd.**


End file.
